


Heat

by gnsmk



Category: Death Note
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3462845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnsmk/pseuds/gnsmk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt knew it was wrong, sick, in fact. What he was doing. Touching himself with his jeans round his ankles, leaning his head back against the cool tiled wall and repressing a moan as his best friend lay unconscious in the next room.</p>
<p>[ancient drabble from 2010]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat

Matt knew it was wrong, sick, in fact. What he was doing. Touching himself with his jeans round his ankles, leaning his head back against the cool tiled wall and repressing a moan as his best friend lay unconscious in the next room.

But it was his fault Matt was here.

Mello’s body was just- 

… even in it’s half burnt state he- 

… it was just so… _fuck_.

With his skin glistening, adorned with a sheen of sweat. Body writhing in pain, back arching, groans… oh _god_ those groans. If Matt closed his eyes tight enough he could imagine they were in pleasure, not pain. That the distortion of his body was due to Matt’s cock pounding into him, not the agony of fried nerves. That the sweat was from exertion, not fever. 

The skin, the sweat, the warmth. Mello’s skin was on fire. So hot. Hot to the touch. The heat made an almost solid barrier. Matt almost felt like he was caressing the tanned skin even when his fingertips were still millimeters away. God, he wanted to hold him. Run his hands along the flat stomach, up his chest, down his thighs, tongue trailing after each touch. 

But he couldn’t, his friend was sick. Possibly dying. Matt was disgusting and he hated himself for it. But he couldn’t stop.

So his hands explored his own body, eyes closed tight as he pictured Mello with his sweat and arching and groans and then coming. 

Cheeks burning with shame, stained tissue down the toilet, he’d return to his friend. Drip water through parched lips, change sweat soaked bed sheets, stroke hair to calm his whimpering. And then he’d be back in the bathroom. Touching himself with his jeans round his ankles, leaning his head back against the cool tiled wall and repressing a moan as his best friend lay unconscious in the next room.


End file.
